Five times Charming left Snow hot and bothered
by WhiteLadyoftheRing
Summary: ... (and one time she didn't let him) - Snow is a realist. Though often described as infuriatingly optimistic, she's merely one to focus on the positives of a given situation instead of lingering on the negative. So when she decided to become a mother, she knew it would be difficult. Night-time feedings, exhaustion, constant worrying … all those things she'd been prepared for.


For one of my Siths on her birthday. Happy birthday, Cam! (And may the tradition of holster porn continue!)

* * *

**Five times Charming left Snow hot and bothered (and one time she didn't let him)**

Snow is a realist. Though often described as infuriatingly optimistic, it isn't that she sees everything as rainbows and unicorns. No, she's merely one to focus on the positives of a given situation instead of lingering on the negative. So when she decided to become a mother, she knew it would be difficult. Night-time feedings, exhaustion, constant worrying … all those things she'd been prepared for.

But it's all the things she hadn't thought of - being a new mother and grandmother at the same time, of a 28-year-old daughter and a ten-year-old grandson instead of a single infant - that are beginning to become a problem …

.

_-One-_

Water. _Hot_ water. It's the best thing she's felt in - she doesn't know how long. Snow washes the grit and grime of another world from her skin, digs her fingernails into her scalp and breathes in the steam. She doesn't have long; they normally have barely enough water for the two of them - let alone four - and she'd let Emma have first dibs. She should be quick, but she finds herself just standing under the spray, sighing as the tension releases from her spine.

She's so relaxed, in fact, that she barely registers the click of the bathroom door, followed shortly by the scrape of the shower curtain being pulled back.

"Took you long enough," she murmurs, not even bothering to open her eyes as Charming presses up behind her, his skin cool against her own.

His mouth is on her shoulder, then the nape of her neck, his touch featherlight. "Had to distract the kids."

"Mm," she hums, tilting her head as he moves to nuzzle the curve of her neck. "How'd you manage that?"

His hands settle on her hips, pulling her back against him, where she can feel his arousal pressing against her. "Henry's teaching Emma how to swordfight."

"Swordfighting, hmm - _ah!_" She gasps as his mouth closes over her earlobe. She can feel the need rising within him, that familiar ache that has been pulsing within her since the moment she'd found herself in his arms. This isn't quite how she'd imagined it - that innocent, girlish part of her mind having thought of rose petals and candlelight - but that thought is quickly squashed by the deep primal need for him. All the time they've lost only serves to remind her that if she doesn't jump at the opportunity now, it may very well be gone forever. So she sighs, and melts into his arms as his hands and mouth work magic on her body. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised."

He grinds against her backside, breathing unsteadily against her ear. "What's that supposed to-?"

There's a crash from the living room.

"_Henry!"_

"_I'm sorry!"_

"_Are you okay?"_

"_I'm fine! But the lamp-"_

Charming sighs and sags against her. "I should-"

Part of her wants to tell him that Emma can handle it, but maternal instinct quickly outweighs everything else. "Yeah," she agrees regretfully. "I'll be out in a minute too."

He kisses her quickly, then hops out of the shower, dried and dressed in less than a minute to deal with whatever small disaster has occurred in the living room.

Welcome to parenthood, she thinks. But this can't happen _that _often.

… right?

.

_-Two-_

Snow sleeps in.

It's not something she'd do as a teacher, and certainly not something she'd do as a princess (not as a swordfighting, arrow-shooting bandit princess, anyway), but considering it's only her second night's sleep in a real bed, she decides she can let it slide.

But she doesn't sleep _too_ late.

It isn't an alarm that wakes her, or even the morning sun, filtering in through the curtains, but the sensation of her husband's mouth on her neck, her chest; his big hands palming every inch of skin he can reach.

She hums happily into his kiss, stretching beneath him and feeling at least three joints pop in the process.

"Good morning," he murmurs, the words lost as he presses them into her skin, trailing back down her body as he pulls at her slip.

"_Very_ good morning," she replies, lying back and enjoying the attention. Normally, she's intent on being an active participant in their activities, but today she is tired (maybe slightly hungover) and dead set on relaxing. But Charming doesn't seem to mind doing most of the work, if the hunger in his eyes is any indication. He works the straps of her nightgown over her shoulders, then pushes the garment down, inch by inch, pressing tender kisses to newly exposed skin.

He's just working her panties over her hips when the phone rings.

"Don't answer it," she says, wriggling her hips impatiently.

He doesn't, letting the answering machine pick up instead as he pulls her underwear off in one swift motion, and doesn't waste any time settling between her legs. His touch is firm, but gentle, teasing her as he brushes his lips against her inner thighs.

"Charming-"

The greeting on the answering machine ends, and Charming pauses mid-stroke, leaving her to grind into his hand.

It's Emma.

"_Hey guys, I know you're having your - _alone time -_ but - we've got a problem. Archie's- Just - just meet me at Archie's office as soon as you can, okay?"_

_._

_-Three-_

Yes.

_Yes._

"_Yes_," she groans, realizing that she's finally able to vocalize that thought. It's been too long. And with four people in an apartment meant for two (moreover, an apartment with no _walls_), they've been forced to limit their time together to silent, half-clothed love-making in the dead of night. Not that fucking on the bench seat of the truck, offroad in the forest is much classier, but there's something freeing about not caring who hears her; not worrying about their daughter - or worse: their _grandson_ - ambling ignorantly into the room.

She's almost certain she'll have bruises tomorrow - not the least of which from the seatbelt buckle that's currently pressing into her back - but she doesn't particularly care, because Charming is hard inside her, and her hands are busy tracing the long, taut lines of his muscles.

"Mary Margaret," he whispers, moving slowly - _agonizingly_ slowly, to the point she feels she'll go insane. "_Snow_."

"Charming," she replies, pressing her hips impatiently against his. "_Please._"

He kisses her, slowly and thoroughly, then moves to support himself on his elbows, ready to pick up the pace and-

His phone rings.

"Let it go to voicemail," she says breathlessly. He looks around the cab, clearly trying to find where his pants had wandered off to, and she draws him into a kiss. "It can wait."

But it can't, it seems, because the phone has barely stopped ringing when it starts again. Charming sighs, dropping his head to her shoulder before fishing on the floor for his jeans.

_Ring-ring._

"What the-" Snow frowns, then realizes that her own phone - resting conveniently in the cup holder - is ringing too. She retrieves it, and feels anxiety twist in her gut as she answers. "Emma?"

"_Where are you guys?_"

"Um-" she stammers. "We're- ah-"

"_Nevermind, it doesn't matter. There's been an accident at the town line. I'm fine. Henry's with Granny, but can you meet me there?_"

She sighs, relieved that her family is all right, but muffles a small mewl of disappointment as Charming pulls out and starts organizing their clothes. "Yes, of course. We'll be right there."

.

_-Four-_

Snow has to admit, it _is_ rather nice having the apartment to themselves. Not that she doesn't love her family - she'd go an eternity with no privacy at all to keep her daughter and grandson near - but that doesn't mean she can't enjoy the perks of their little vacation.

Which incidentally involves her sprawled out, half naked on the kitchen table with Charming leaning over her.

(She makes a mental note to pick up some Clorox from the store.)

"Like old times," she murmurs, leaning up to kiss him.

He meets her kiss and presses his thumb against her, causing her to tremble and she fights her way back from the edge of release. No, not so quick. They finally have time - and privacy - to enjoy one another fully, and she isn't going to let this be over so soon. And not only that, but she can't bear to lose the distraction - her mind having been caught up in worrying over Emma and Henry; now far more focused on _other _things.

"Charming," she whimpers, feeling him press his fingers inside her again. "Please-"

_Ring-ring._

Let it go to voicemail, she thinks. They've dealt with enough emergencies for now. The world won't end if she doesn't-

And then she catches sight of her cell phone, just two feet away beside her on the kitchen table, the caller-ID lit up clearly.

_EMMA_

"David," she whines, torn between not wanting to stop and needing to answer the phone. "Hold on for - just a minute?"

But it isn't a just-checking-in call.

And it's certainly more than a minute.

.

_-Five-_

"Emma and Henry just left for Granny's," Snow croons, sliding her arms around Charming's waist and pressing a lingering kiss to the curve of his neck. She slips her hands down to his belt, slowly working at the buckle. "By my calculations, we've got at least twenty minutes before they notice we're late."

He turns in her arms, but as she leans up to kiss him, he carefully pushes her away by the shoulders. "I wish I could-"

Snow wilts. "But?"

"But I promised Gold I'd help him with Belle tonight." She frowns, but he cuts her off before she can respond. "Long story." He kisses her quickly, then makes his way to the door. "I'll be back soon."

.

.

.

_-One-_

Three.

Three out of nineteen.

Well- technically three _and a half_ out of nineteen.

It's a sad statistic (and an even sadder thing to be tallying in her day planner), but Snow _knows_ she's got to do something about it.

Nineteen attempts to make love to her husband in the past three weeks.

Only three of which were (completely) successful.

It's time to take matters into her own hands.

So while Charming is busy playing wingman to Gold, she makes a run to the sheriff station for supplies and sends a very pointed text message to Emma.

_DON'T COME HOME UNTIL AFTER TEN._

_ -WHAT ABOUT HENRY?_

_TAKE HIM OUT FOR TACOS._

_ -EW GROSS. TAKE ALL THE TIME YOU NEED._

Three out of nineteen is unacceptable. But four out of twenty? That's progress.

Charming comes home later than she'd hoped, shrugging out of his jacket and kicking his boots off by the front door. He smells of the bar - like whiskey and smoke - and the newness of it makes her feel warm and flushed all over.

"So did your matchmaking work?" she asks casually, leaning against the stairway.

"Well enough."

He moves to shrug out of the holster, and on instinct, she reaches out to stop him. "Don't-" she says, then casts him a wolfish smile. "Keep the holster on."

It apparently takes a second for her meaning to register, and then he's grinning stupidly as she takes him by the hand and leads him to the bedroom alcove.

After further consideration, she decides it was silly of her to resent him for their lack of - er, _activity_. It hasn't been easy on him either; she can tell by how hard he already is when he presses her into the mattress, his body flush against hers. "I knew you liked the holster," he says when she runs her fingers over the straps.

"Mm," she hums, her mind already fuzzy; his presence intoxicating. "I've missed you."

"I've been right here," he assures her, though when she pulls away to meet his eyes, she can tell he knows what she meant. (Of course he does, she thinks vaguely. He always knows.)

"It isn't the same," she says, and leans up to kiss him. "And besides - how many times have we been interrupted?"

He laughs at that, his forehead pressed to hers. "Too many."

"Sixteen," she says immediately. "I've been keeping count. It's been sixteen."

He groans. "Feels like more than that."

"It does," she agrees, reaching down to work at the fly of his jeans. "But I think I came up with a solution."

"Oh, yeah?" he grins, shifting for her as she works his jeans over his hips. "What's that?"

She doesn't answer; instead, she flips him over, so he's on the bottom and she's on top, straddling his hips as she pins his hands above his head. It's a game they play - a type of wrestling that's so often ended with bruised ribs twisted knees; a battle of dominance in a relationship where dominance has no meaning. She's won, but only because he let her, and he's smiling from ear to ear until he hears an unfamiliar _click_ above his head.

"... handcuffs?"

She grins roguishly. "I _'borrowed' _them from the station. I hope you don't mind."

He swallows thickly, and she sees a flare of excitement in his eyes. "Not at all."

"I figured this way," she says pointedly, sitting back to admire her work - her husband with both hands linked around the headboard, "you can't run off just when things start to get interesting." She takes the opportunity to pull her blouse over her head, followed by her bra.

He licks his lips. "Sounds like an excellent plan to me."

He's an attentive audience as she wiggles out of her skirt and tights, helpless to do anything but watch, and when she finally bends to tug his boxers over his hips, she finds him already hard and angling himself into her hand.

She strokes him slowly, watching the way he gasps and arches into her touch. "You're impatient."

He grunts. "You're not the only one who's been going crazy with all these interruptions."

"Good," she says cheekily. "I've always been one for equality in marriage."

He's about to come back with some smart reply, but she cuts him off with a kiss, moving seamlessly to straddle him again, her chest pressed against his. He's still clothed from the waist up, and she brushes her fingertips against the fabric of his shirt, following the lines of the holster, and then up his arms to link her hands with his, above his head where he's restrained. She rocks against him, feeling his manhood brush against her core, and he makes a strangled noise in response. She does it again - again and again and again - and pulls back to watch his face twist with ecstasy when she finally takes him inside her.

"Snow," he murmurs - _Snow_; her true name; the name he only uses in private - and she feels a thrill of excitement at that.

"Charming," she replies, squeezing his hands more tightly, then begins to move, slowly at first, then with more vigor as his hips rise to meet hers and she feels the tension building and building at her core. He shudders beneath her, and a moment later she's overcome by a familiar landslide of warmth and light.

She doesn't move as they come down together, perfectly content to be nestled on top of him as she regains her senses.

He turns his head, pressing a light kiss to her cheek. "Wow."

She smiles into the pillow. "Thought you'd like the handcuffs."

"I did," he agrees, and finally releases her hands to stretch his fingers. "But I think I'm ready to get them off."

She sits up, carefully slipping off of him and retrieving her robe from the wardrobe door. "Oh, what fun is that? Emma and Henry won't be back for another hour at least."

He smiles devilishly. "Then maybe you can take a turn in the cuffs."

"Maybe I can," she replies, perching on the edge of the bed and leaning down to kiss him. "So where are your keys?"

His face falls. "My keys? Why do you need my keys?"

She frowns. "Yeah. You do keep the handcuff keys on your keyring, don't you?"

He doesn't have to say anything; the look on his face is confirmation enough that she's made a mistake. A _big_ mistake. "No, I keep them on the keyring for the _cruiser_."

"... but Emma has the cruiser right now."

"... _fuck._"


End file.
